(Formerly: No Illusive Difference (to explain))
She lies in shadows leeward of the Lady of
Delusion, born between real deliberations
making time pass and belief that for her
it stands forever still anyway. No-one will
call her to lunch today or take her to task
should she forget to wash her hands, she
is ruled by Arcadian rhythms deigned less
quaint ideas of rustic simplicity than life
of a sybarite chained to devotional luxury.
From the ease of her couch she
contemplates what is and what
might have been; as far as she
can see there is no
illusive difference
to explain...
© 26 July 2007, I.D. Carswell
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